Page 118 of Taming the Highland Misfits
A startled gasp broke from the crowd as they cowered back to make way for Bearnard, who was moving much more slowly because he was pushing Aidan in front of him while holding a dagger to his neck. No one had ever seen Bearnard’s usually calm countenance transformed into such a mask of fury before.
Aidan’s eyes were wide with terror as he was shoved towards the gallows, but he was not struggling to free himself, since one wrong move could have made him slit his own throat.
Freya climbed onto the platform holding the gallows and stood in front of Alex. “This man is innocent!” she yelled, pointing at Alex. Then she indicated Aidan. “Heis the guilty party, as is he.” She pointed to Gerald, who had eased himself to the back of the crowd and was trying to sneak away. “Gerald Patterson, stay where you are. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear. Guards! Hold him.”
The nearest couple of guards grabbed Gerald by the arms and held him prisoner. Gerald struggled fruitlessly for a few moments then gave up, realising that he was completely unequal to the task of escaping. He directed a malevolent glare at Freya, and even though the mass of people between them made it hard to see her, he put every ounce of hatred and rage he possessed into it. He had never loathed anyone so much in his life.
Freya glowered back. The feeling was entirely mutual.
24
As soon as Freya saw Alex, her first impulse was to run to him, untie his bonds and kiss him, but she had too many things to attend to before that! She strode very determinedly along the platform to stand before her father and ripped the Warrant of Execution out of his hands.
“Freya! What are you doing?” the Laird demanded. “This is a lawful execution. You have no right to stop it. Give me back the warrant!” He tried to snatch it from her hands, but she hid it behind her back and he stood looking at her, furious but helpless for a moment.
Freya shook her head furiously, making her hair loosen from its chignon and tumble around her face. She was so proud and fierce that she looked like some goddess of war from ancient mythology, Alex thought. He had never been more proud of her, especially when she started to speak in a voice so harsh and raw that could have split stone.
Freya threw out her hand and pointed at Alex. “No, Father!” she said savagely. “This is not a lawful execution, but a grave miscarriage of justice. If I had not stopped you, you would have committed murder, because you would have hanged an innocent man.” She turned to look towards the back, where the two guards were still holding a furious Gerald Patterson. “Bring him to the front, please,” she ordered.
The guards did so, but did not climb up onto the platform, so Gerald Patterson had to crane his neck to see her, a fact which did not please him at all. After a few minutes, he gave up the effort of trying to look into her eyes and lowered his gaze to the floor. He was clearly furious, and this gave Freya a savage delight.
Freya waved the Warrant of Execution up so that the crowd could see it. “This man is innocent!” she cried. “You have all known him for years and you know him to be an honourable man, so why is he standing here on a scaffold waiting to be hanged?” She waited while a buzz of speculation sounded from the crowd, then spoke again.
“I will tell you why!” She waved the Warrant of Execution in the air, then pointed to Patterson. “This man concocted a plot against Alex MacNeill to discredit him and eventually force our two clans, the MacNeills and the Murdaughs, into war against each other. But it is worse than that, because he dragged my stupid, easily-led, weak-willed brother into the plot with him. If Alex had been hanged, these two would have had blood on their hands, because they planned a murder.
And if our clans had gone to war, how many lives would have been lost then? Hundreds, likely. Families would have been torn apart, livelihoods ruined, and for what reason?” She looked around the throng of expectant faces in front of her. “I will tell you why. Because Aidan Murdaugh and Gerald Patterson wanted possession of all the Murdaugh and MacNeill lands and properties. And I’ll tell you one more thing. Aidan would receive nothing, because this–this piece of slime,” her voice throbbed with disgust as she pointed to Patterson, “would murder him just as surely as he was going to murder Alex MacNeill!”
“But Aidan is going to inherit the Murdaugh holdings when I die anyway,” Laird Murdaugh broke in. He spread his hands as he looked at his daughter. “This makes no sense at all, Freya. Come and let us talk about this in private. It is a family matter.” He looked deeply distressed, but Freya was too angry to care at that moment.
“No,” she said stubbornly. “I want everyone to hear what a nasty piece of work my brother is. I am completely ashamed of him, and everybody should know why.”
The Laird interrupted again. “Aidan is still my son, Freya, and I do not want his life threatened in this way.” He looked at Bearnard, who stared back at him unflinchingly. “Please put the knife down, Son. I promise you will not be harmed, and I have all these people,” he waved at the assembly, “as witnesses if I make a move against you.”
Bearnard paused for a moment then flicked a glance at Freya, who nodded. He slowly took the knife away from Aidan’s throat and watched as his brother sank to his knees, weak with relief and the sudden release of tension.
Freya tore the Warrant of Execution into tiny pieces, then cast its remnants into the crowd, and pulled a sheaf of papers from the bag she was carrying over her shoulder. She held them up and waved them vigorously. There was an immediate buzz of conversation as the crowd realised that something momentous was going to happen.
“Here is the evidence of Aidan Murdaugh and Gerald Patterson’s guilt and Alex MacNeill’s innocence!” she cried, looking as though she might explode with rage. “Let me read it to you.”
* * *
The night before…
Bearnard found Freya sitting, looking into the fire in the parlour, unable to sleep. She looked as though she had been weeping for hours; her eyes were red and her cheeks were still wet with tears. She was huddled into the corner of the couch, holding a cushion against herself as if it would protect her from what was to come. Her whole demeanour was one of utter misery. She looked up as he burst through the doors.
“I have found out something,” Bearnard said excitedly. “There may be a way to save Alex, Freya.”
She looked at him incredulously, then her face fell back into its expression of hopelessness. “Please do not give me false hope, Bearnard,” she said miserably.
“I went down to the dungeons to talk to Alex, but I had to hide when I heard footsteps. It was Gerald Patterson, and I heard him talking to Alex, telling him about the plot he and Aidan had devised to take over the Murdaughs and the MacNeills. Framing Alex was part of their plan. If they could get him to be their scapegoat, then they could do away with him and legitimately start a war with the MacNeills, since it would appear that he had been working for them.
Evidence was planted in Alex’s room in a place where it was relatively easy to find, and our father read it and assumed it was from Laird MacNeill. As you know, his eyesight is not what it used to be and he was told by Gerald Patterson that it was from him. He could just about read the letter, but he certainly could not tell who wrote it. Patterson may have kept it somewhere so that he could produce it as evidence if he ever needed it.”
Freya could not allow herself even an atom of hope, but she wiped her eyes and stopped weeping.
“I have never loved anyone as I love Alex, Bearnard,” she said sadly. “Just think, if we do nothing, this time tomorrow he will not be here. They will have taken him away to bury him in unconsecrated ground somewhere like the criminal they say he is. But he is not guilty, he is not, Bearnard!” Tears of anger began to roll again from her eyes and she clenched her hands into fists.
Bearnard put an arm around her shoulders. “Alex is like a brother to me.” His voice was angry. “Much more of a brother than my real one! He has always treated me with respect and kindness, and he has never tried to make me feel less than I am, or made a fool of me in front of others, as Aidan has. When I make mistakes, he corrects me instead of making fun of me. Of course, I am not saying he is perfect–no one is–but he is a damn sight closer to perfection than Aidan is!”
